


It's Our Party and We'll Fuck if We Want To

by firethesound



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Party, Slight Dub-Con Due To All Parties Involved Being A Little Bit Tipsy, almost getting caught, tipsy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 08:24:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12744612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firethesound/pseuds/firethesound
Summary: It's like if a tree falls in the forest, Harry thinks. Sneaking away to blow his boyfriend in a coat closet at their own housewarming is only a bad idea if they get caught, right?





	It's Our Party and We'll Fuck if We Want To

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrancesQBadger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancesQBadger/gifts).



> Many thanks to the lovely LQ for all your help getting this thing whipped into shape! And many more thanks to FrancesQBadger for your ongoing patience with me. I hope you enjoy this <3

With the sheer number of people currently crammed into Grimmauld Place, it feels like a stroke of luck when Harry, on his way back from the kitchen to check the status of their alcohol supply, encounters Draco alone in the entryway. Grimmauld Place is full to bursting. It’s mostly Slytherins and Gryffindors, along with a scattering of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, and so far no one’s hexed anyone else, as Harry had been half-afraid would happen. He’s not sure whether that’s because or in spite of the startlingly depleted supply of alcohol, but the success of it still makes him feel like he’s floating. This is a future he’d never dared imagine just three years ago, during the War.

Draco breaks into a brilliant grin when he catches sight of Harry, and he skips the final step of the staircase, hopping over it and landing with a thump. Harry’s heart kicks hard against his ribs in response, the way it always does when Draco smiles at him like that. Here, the high-ceilinged entryway is cool and dim, and with just the two of them it feels like a little oasis from the rest of the crowded, noisy house. It feels like they’re getting away with something, and Harry catches Draco by the wrist and leans in quick to sneak a kiss as they make to pass by each other. His heart skips a beat when Draco not only lets him, but comes to a stop and hauls him in close for a bit of a snog. Draco’s not much for public displays of affection, and sure they’re in their house (a sharp thrill shivers through Harry when he thinks, _their house!_ Merlin, he hopes he never gets used to how exciting that feels!) but right now there’s a rowdy game of Exploding Snap going on just next door in the dining room, and raucous laughter echoing up from down in the kitchen, and footsteps thumping overhead, so it’s not exactly private. Anyone could walk past at any moment.

A little thrill goes through him at the thought, and he kisses Draco harder.

“Draco,” Harry moans softly and lets his head loll to one side as Draco mouths his way down the exposed length of Harry’s throat. “What are you—”

“Your friends,” Draco says, pausing to bite at Harry’s collarbone, “are driving me mad. They are _loud_ , and they are _obnoxious_ , and—”

Unfortunately for the point Draco was trying to make, Pansy Parkinson lets loose a particularly braying sort of laugh from just beyond the dining room doorway.

Harry raises his eyebrows. “You were saying?”

“I was saying,” Draco goes on without missing a beat, because when has he ever let inconsequential things like _facts_ dissuade him from making his point? “that your friends are all awful, and I’m reminding myself why I ever thought taking up with you was a good idea when you and they come as a package deal.”

It’s such a blatant lie that Harry nearly laughs. He knows for a fact that Draco doesn’t hate his friends. He and Ron just got together on their own for a pint earlier this week, and Harry knows that Draco and Hermione have become pen pals of a sort, owling each other long debates on the finer points of magical theory because it turns out the two of them are a couple of giant nerds. It hasn’t been that long since the War, but Draco has worked hard to make amends. His friendship with Harry’s friends, in fact, predates his relationship with Harry by a significant number of months.

But, Harry thinks as Draco tugs aside the collar of Harry’s tee-shirt to better kiss along his collarbone, he rather likes where he thinks this is going, so he doesn’t point any of that out.

“Well, are you adequately reminded yet?” he asks instead.

“Mm, nearly,” Draco murmurs, leaving off Harry’s neck and leaning back in for another kiss, “but you’d best remind me a little more, just to be certain.”

There’s a shout from overhead and the sound of someone clattering down the stairs, and all Harry can think is that he isn’t done kissing Draco yet. He fumbles behind them, wrenches open the door of the narrow coat closet, and drags Draco inside.

He gets the door shut just in time, as someone turns the landing and thunders down the last of the stairs, coming to a stop in the dining room doorway. “Oi!” he hears George shout a second later.

“WHAT!” Ginny hollers back at him, and whatever George says after that is obscured by another burst of Pansy’s braying laugh.

“Are we really doing this?” Draco asks as Harry ignores what’s happening outside in favor of fumbling with Draco’s trousers. Harry feels him reach down past his hands to draw his wand. A moment later, Draco casts a dim _Lumos_.

“It’s our housewarming,” Harry tells him, finally getting his trousers open. “I reckon we can do whatever we’d like.”

Draco huffs even as he gives his hips a little shimmy to help get his trousers down his thighs. “Fucking in a coat closet at our own housewarming, though. How gauche.” He tucks his wand into the buttonhole of the coat hanging behind Harry where it dangles limply.

“We’re not fucking,” Harry tells him, pulling down Draco’s pants and getting a hand on him. “I’m going to suck your cock.”

“Oh, well _that_ makes all the difference,” Draco says. “Hiding in a coat closet for a blowjob is a different matter entirely.”

If he’s still capable of making complete sentences and being sarcastic, Harry’s clearly not working hard enough here. He drops awkwardly down to his knees, shuffling several pairs of Draco’s winter boots and some of his own old trainers out of the way as he goes. One of Draco’s cloaks somehow gets between them, and Draco wrestles it aside. It slips off its hanger and falls to the floor, and Harry wads it up and stuffs it under his bony knees.

“You’ll get wrinkles—” Draco begins with a frown.

“There are spells to fix that,” Harry cuts him off, because not getting bruises on his knees is far more important than not crushing wrinkles into a stupid cloak, and before Draco can keep arguing with him, he leans in and sucks Draco’s cock into his mouth.

He’s not hard yet, his dick only just beginning to perk up. Harry sucks delicately at it, and can’t help the little hum of pleasure he makes at the soft weight of it on his tongue. It’s rare that Harry gets Draco’s cock in his mouth like this. They usually have a little more foreplay before their dicks get involved, and there’s something almost unbearably intimate about it. It’s no secret that Harry likes the soft, hidden parts of Draco best—his belly, his throat, the tender, ticklish insides of his thighs—but his limp cock feels vulnerable in a way that the other bits of him don’t.

That, and Harry really _really_ likes the feel of Draco’s cock thickening up in his mouth. It gets to him like almost nothing else, makes his thoughts melt into a warm mess of affection and pleasure. He takes Draco all the way down, his nose pressing into the coarse curls of hair at the base of Draco’s cock, and breathes in deep the smell of him, warm and a little sweaty now that he’s six or seven hours past his most recent bath, the faintly floral scent of his soap worn nearly away so that he just smells like _Draco_. The smell of him makes Harry’s mouth water, and he licks firmly at the base of Draco’s cock before pulling back just far enough to get at the tip. He slips his tongue around the head, tracing out the soft ridge of its crown, tonguing the little dip on the underside where head meets shaft, enjoying all of it while he can because once Draco’s fully erect Harry won’t be able to get at him so easily.

For now, Draco’s only half-hard, but getting bigger with every second that Harry toys with him, and a little shiver of pride zips up his spine. _That’s_ the very best part of this, feeling him react and knowing that it’s all because of Harry.

He strains his ears, _thinks_ he hears Draco groan his name, but he can’t be sure. But then again, Draco could practically be shouting and he’d probably have no idea. Whatever noises he might be making are swallowed up by the unholy racket coming from the dining room, by what sounds like George and Ron shouting good-naturedly at each other down the hall, by the footsteps thudding overhead, and now someone’s turned up the wireless in the kitchen so loud that Harry can practically feel the music vibrating up through the floorboards, even through the wadded-up cloak he’s got stuffed under his knees.

But Harry can imagine what Draco sounds like right now. All the quick inhalations and slow sighs, the little bitten-off groans and the high whimpers that he tries to catch behind his teeth, the way he murmurs Harry’s name. He always starts off resisting, trying to maintain his composure, and getting him to come undone entirely is half the fun. For someone who’s so fussy and obsessed with decorum the rest of the time, Draco gets _loud_ during sex. Harry loves it, loves seeing how far he can push, seeing just how loud he can make Draco get.

Draco’s hips jerk forward, momentarily choking Harry with his cock, and then a moment later his hands pet gently through Harry’s hair in silent apology, and Harry hums around his cock. The sound probably won’t carry, but Draco will feel the vibration of it, and hopefully will pick up that Harry wants him to keep doing that. Sure enough, he pets Harry’s hair again, more forcefully this time, then tangles his fingers in it and give a slow tug. Harry hums again, then sucks firmly as he pulls nearly all the way off, gives the tip a lick and then slides back down again. Draco’s grip on his hair goes slack.

Harry thinks about nudging him, encouraging him to get his hands busy again, but instead he lets it go. His own cock is pressed uncomfortably against the fly of his trousers and it’s much more important to see to himself. He flicks open the button, lowers the zip, and gets himself out.

And then once his cock is already in his hand, he can’t resist giving it a slow tug, twisting his clenched fingers around the head. Not hard, not enough to really get himself going, but enough to take the desperate edge off.

With one hand busy on his cock, Harry slides his free hand up Draco’s thigh, feels how firmly Draco’s reining himself in by the way his muscles have gone tight and trembling under Harry’s palm. He slides his hand up, up, until he can curl his fingers around the base of Draco’s cock to feel how hard he is. He gives it a squeeze and sucks hard at the same time.

For a moment the noise going on outside their closet drops enough that when Draco makes a _hnngh_ sound deep in his throat and thumps his head back against the wall, it sounds shockingly loud. And even though getting him to make noise was exactly what Harry wanted, now that it’s just happened Harry’s afraid they might have been overheard. The wall behind Draco is the one that their coat closet shares with the dining room, and Harry freezes, listening. The cacophony going on next door is a little muffled from in here but doesn’t seem to have lessened any.

“Quiet,” Harry cautions.

“Please,” Draco drawls. He sounds relatively composed, but his breathing is a little quick. “For anyone to hear me over the din out there they’d have to have ears like a bat.”

No one here’s got ears that good, that’s true, but both Blaise Zabini and Ginny have an unnatural sort of sixth sense for catching people in compromising positions. And while the risk of being caught _in theory_ adds a little extra something to the moment, Harry has no desire whatsoever for it to actually happen. Good god, the teasing he’d have to endure. He would never hear the end of it because (loathe as Harry is to admit that Draco’s right, even in the privacy of his own mind) all of their friends are incredibly obnoxious and they’d all take a great and terrible joy in mocking Harry for the rest of his natural life. And that wasn’t even taking into consideration the great big tempting target that Draco made. Draco blushed easily, turning a bright red if you could get him embarrassed or angry enough. And it wasn’t hard at all to nudge him toward one or the other, though most often Draco ended up both at once.

“All right,” Harry says. “Just. Be quiet.” He pauses then amends, “Well. As quiet as you’re able.”

Even in the dim wandlight, Harry can see the way Draco’s cheeks flush. He’s not attractive when he does it—the color rises blotchy and uneven—but something about it turns Harry on anyway, makes him want to snog Draco senseless, get his hands on him and pull him close. Get him all mussed and imperfect.

“Fuck off,” Draco mutters crossly, and Harry doesn’t give him the chance to say anything more than that. 

He gets his mouth back on Draco, pressing his parted lips to the tip and licking up the bead of precome that’s welled up on the slit. Draco’s hands return to his hair, weaving through the strands and tugging gently.

He’s only just got himself back into the rhythm of it when there’s a tremendous crash from outside, the unmistakable sound of something very fragile making sudden and disastrous contact with the floor. Draco half-twitches toward the door like he’s going to go out there to see what it was, and Harry hauls him back, pinning him in place and sucking harder at his cock.

“But it might…” Draco says breathlessly.

Harry pulls off just long enough to tell him, “Either it’s just a bottle, and they’ll Vanish it, or it’s something important, in which case they’ll have it _Reparo_ -ed by the time you go out there.”

“But…” Draco protests feebly.

“Do you want your cock sucked or don’t you?” Harry asks him, licking pointedly up the shaft and giving the head a little suckle to help Draco make up his mind.

“Cock sucking, please,” Draco says immediately, sounding so desperate for it that Harry’s stomach gives a pleased little flip. Then Draco regains a little of himself as he levels a glare at Harry and adds, “But if it was one of _your friends_ that broke something valuable…”

It’s an empty threat, and they both know it, and in any case even if it _was_ one of Harry’s friends and they _had_ broken something valuable, they’ll never admit to it, especially since all the ones most likely to have broken something (read: all the ones with Weasley as their surname) are also the ones most experienced in saying they didn’t do it with a perfectly straight face, and if Molly Weasley isn’t able to get the guilty party to crack, Draco Malfoy certainly won’t be able to. So Harry doesn’t bother with a reply. Just gets his mouth back on Draco again, and after a moment one of Draco’s hands comes up to cup the back of his neck, the slight pressure guiding him in closer. 

Harry teases him for a while, with gentle sucking and slow licks up the shaft and over the head, enjoying the way he can make Draco react, loving all the bitten-off whimpers and half-swallowed moans, loving the way Draco’s hips keep twitching forward like he can’t help trying to get closer. But eventually Harry’s jaw begins to get tired and, despite the crumpled-up cloak padding the floor, his knees begin to ache. He sucks harder, working Draco determinedly with his mouth. His other hand moves from pinning Draco’s hip against the wall, slips down between his thighs and strokes that warm place behind his bollocks. Draco hitches his legs farther apart and the hand he’s still got cradling the back of Harry’s head tightens its grip.

He can tell Draco’s getting close, from the way his stifled moans aren’t quite so stifled anymore and the way his legs have gone tense and trembling, his thighs straining against where his lowered trousers won’t let him spread himself as open as he wants. Harry sucks harder, taking his hand off his own cock to reach up and fondle Draco’s balls where they’re drawn high and tight to his body, slips his other hand farther back to stroke the pad of his finger gently over Draco’s arsehole. Draco makes a broken sound and when he tries again to spread his thighs wider than his trousers will allow, a perfectly timed lull in the din going on in the rest of the house lets Harry hear stitches pop. Draco must be right on the edge, and Harry fights down the urge to smile and sucks harder.

“Wait wait wait!” Draco gasps out, and Harry backs off immediately.

“What?”

“Just a minute, I need to—” Draco surges forward with no warning, groping at the coats hanging behind Harry. His hard cock jabs Harry in the face.

“Ow, stop it,” Harry says, shoving at Draco because what the fuck, he nearly put Harry’s eye out. “Wait—let me—” He manages to clamber up to his feet and finds himself nearly nose-to-nose with Draco, and his heart melts a little when he sees how Draco looks: pink-cheeked and still a little hazy-eyed, and his lips are reddened like he’s been biting at them. “Hi,” Harry says, and pecks a chaste little kiss against Draco’s mouth simply because he’s there and he can.

“Hello yourself,” Draco says, and for a moment they just stand there, smiling foolishly at each other. Then Draco seems to remember that he was actually doing something and reaches past Harry.

Harry shuffles aside as best he can in the confined space, making way as Draco leans around him and rifles through the hanging coats. From the pocket of one of them he produces a small container. “Aha!” he says, victorious, and nearly punches Harry in the face as he thrusts his hand up in the air to hold it aloft.

Harry startles backwards and knocks into the coat with Draco’s wand sticking through the buttonhole, sending it swinging wildly. In the lurching shadows, Harry’s able to make out that the container Draco’s holding is in fact a small tin of lube.

“You carry lube around in your coat pocket?” he asks incredulously.

Draco arches a perfect eyebrow. “You don’t?” he counters.

“No I fucking don’t,” Harry says. “What the fuck. Why would I?”

“Why would I?” Draco echoes. He waves the container under Harry’s nose. “You’re asking _why would I_ when here we are, in need of lube—”

“But we’re not in need of lube. What do we need lube for?” Harry interrupts.

Draco’s eyebrow arches higher. “I know you know what lube is for, Potter,” he says. “We’ve been fucking for almost a year.”

“— _because_ ,” Harry forges onward. “We were in the middle of you getting a very excellent blowjob—”

“It really was excellent,” Draco assures him.

“—and we—oh, thank you—certainly don’t need lube for that.”

“No, but we need lube for fucking.”

“I thought you thought that fucking in a coat closet was gauche?”

Draco shrugs and turns the little tin over between his fingers. “I’ve reevaluated my opinion. Do you want to fuck me or not?”

And the answer to that is always _yes please and thank you_ so Harry shrugs and says, “Yeah, fine. All right.”

“Yeah, fine, all right?” Draco echoes. “Well. I certainly feel desirable with an enthusiastic agreement like that.” 

“What, did you want me to compose an ode to your arsehole right here and now? _Oh Draco’s arse, finest arse to be found. Pale as the moon and just as round_ —”

Annoyed, Draco gives him a push, and Harry leaves off composing bad poetry to push him back, which is just as well because it turns out that one rhyme’s about all he had in him. And then they somehow end up in the most juvenile little slap-fight and what a sight that must make, the pair of them with their cocks out and trousers down around their knees, trying their best to stay quiet as they flail at each other in the confines of their little closet, and somewhere in the middle of it Harry manages to accidentally knock the container of lube out of Draco’s hand and it disappears down among the shoes heaped on the floor.

“I’m not picking that up,” Draco says, giving Harry’s hands one last swat. His cock bobs ridiculously with the motion.

“You’re the one that wanted to fuck,” Harry points out, even though by now he’s rather set on the idea of it as well. He squints down into the darkness but he can only make out the uneven lumpy tangle of their shoes piled up everywhere. They really ought to clean this out. How had it even got so cluttered? They’ve only been living here for a couple of weeks.

“Well. If you don’t find the lube for me, you’ll be getting down on your knees anyhow to finish sucking me off. So quite frankly I don’t see what difference it makes to you,” Draco says imperiously, folding his arms over his chest. His trousers choose that moment to lose their grip on his knees and they fall down around his ankles with a soft _whump_. Draco ignores them even as Harry fights to keep from laughing. “Well?”

“God, you’re impossible,” Harry says, leaning in to kiss him. “I can’t believe how much I love you.”

“Mm,” Draco agrees, and kisses him back. “Sometimes I can’t believe it either.”

They get distracted with kissing for a little bit after that, which eventually devolves into snogging, and then frotting is just one short step further because the closet is tiny and they’re standing close together and their trousers are already down, and at the first accidental brush of Draco’s cock against his own, Harry’s pretty much helpless to keep from plastering himself against Draco’s body. He well and truly forgets about the tin of lube lost down on the floor as Draco slips his hands down to Harry’s arse and hauls him closer, focused entirely on the heat and the delicious friction of rutting against Draco.

Draco, of course, doesn’t let him forget about it for very long.

“Mmph,” he says, turning his face away to break the kiss. “Don’t you want to fuck me?”

“What?” Harry asks, still rolling his hips against Draco’s. He’s not really getting anywhere with this—he usually isn’t able to come from frotting alone, it just ratchets him up to an enormously frustrating sort of plateau without being enough to push him over—but they’ve been at it a short enough time that it still feels pretty fantastic. Everything with Draco feels pretty fantastic. “Right now?”

“Rather shortly, I’d hope.” Draco bites at Harry’s neck and arches his whole body against him, rubbing their cocks together, and Harry makes a truly pathetic sound at how good that feels. “This is my party, after all. I’d rather not spend the remainder of it hiding away in a coat closet.”

“It’s my party too,” Harry says automatically. He doesn’t really care about whose party this is at the moment, not with Draco’s mouth on his neck and his hands still on Harry’s arse, guiding the motion of his hips. He’s got no idea at all why he even says it, except that being contrary with Draco is practically second nature

“Well, there you go,” Draco tells him. His smile is sharp, almost predatory. “Added incentive. Now do be a good boy and fetch that lube for me, will you?” He gives Harry’s arse a little pat.

Harry swats his hand away but goes down to his knees without further protest despite the almost unbearably smug look Draco sends him for it. Just wait a few minutes until Harry’s got his cock in Draco, then they’d see who’s smug then.

“Hand me your wand, will you?” he says after a few seconds of pointless groping. He gives Draco’s ankle a poke.

“Where’s yours?” Draco asks, but he wrestles his wand out of the buttonhole it’s stuck through and hands it down.

“Dunno,” Harry mutters, tossing aside a pair of boots. He thinks he might’ve left it in the kitchen. He’d had it in the pocket of his hoodie, and he’d taken his hoodie off in the kitchen, so that’s probably where it is.

“Some fine Auror you’ll make,” Draco says as Harry digs past shoes to better see the floor. “Haven’t they covered that already in your training? Keeping your wand with you ought to be rule number one. Always be prepared.”

“You’re right,” Harry says distractedly, patting the floor around his knees. “I can’t even manage rule number one. I’ll never be an Auror, whatever shall I do now.”

“Mm,” Draco says, petting through Harry’s hair. “I suppose you’ll have to drop out, then. Stay home and be my kept boy.”

Harry snorts and looks up at him. “Stay home? I’d drive us both mad and you know it.”

“I’d just have to keep you sufficiently distracted,” Draco says, leering. “And by _sufficiently distracted_ , I mean so fucked-out you can barely walk.”

“I gathered that’s what you meant,” Harry says dryly.

“Hm. Perhaps you are meant to be an Auror after all, putting together clues like that.”

“Difficult not to, with the evidence quite literally staring me in the face,” Harry tells him, swaying forward to lick the head of Draco’s cock, and then leaning quickly away when Draco tries to cup a hand around the back of his neck to reel him in closer.

“Merlin,” Draco mutters, then plucks his wand from Harry’s fingers. “You’re taking too bloody long. _Accio_ lube!”

The tin of lube flies out of one of the boots Harry had tossed aside, and Harry snags it out of midair a split second before Draco’s fingers can close around it.

“Fuck,” Harry says, sitting back on his heels. “Why didn’t you do that to begin with?”

“I like you on your knees for me,” Draco says, entirely unrepentant. “Although, while you’re down there…” He turns around and gives his arse a little shake.

His arse is right in front of Harry’s face, and Harry bites him on one perfect, pale cheek, hard enough to make Draco yelp. “I’m not going to eat your arse in a coat closet.”

“Too gauche?” Draco asks.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure. That’s it exactly.”

“Liar,” Draco says. “Since when do you give a fuck about decorum?”

“I give a fuck about not getting caught with my tongue up your arse in a coat closet, which we certainly will be when you scream the house down,” Harry says, unscrewing the lid from the tin and clambering up to his feet.

“I can keep quiet,” Draco says insistently.

“Draco,” Harry says. “Our neighbors rang the police on us. Just last week. Do you remember that? When the police showed up because they thought someone was being murdered? And then we had to redo all our wards to make the house Unplottable again?”

“I did not sound like I was being murdered,” Draco says sullenly. “And anyhow, you told me it was a noise complaint, not a someone-being-murdered complaint.”

“The police still showed up,” Harry says. “Does it really matter what exactly they thought was going on over here?”

Even in the dim wandlight, Harry can see that Draco’s blush has spread far enough for his ears to turn red. “Fuck you,” he grumbles.

“Well I’m _trying_ ,” Harry says and pushes a slick finger up his arse. “But all you seem to want to do is argue with me.”

Draco’s shoulders shake as he tries and fails to smother a laugh. “Come on, Potter, that’s practically foreplay for us.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time you bitch at me for leaving my socks on the floor,” Harry says.

Draco loses his struggle and lets loose a thoroughly inelegant snort of laughter, and something warm and fond swells up behind Harry’s ribs, squeezing his heart. It doesn’t fit any idea of romance that he’s ever had—this, here, Draco laughing while Harry’s got a finger pushed inside him, this sort of ridiculous bickering while they’re half-naked and about to have sex—but now that he’s got it, it means _everything_ to Harry. He’s lucky enough to have loads of very dear friends, but he’s never been this comfortable with another person and it’s addicting in the best possible way.

He thinks about telling Draco all of that, but this probably isn’t the time, nor is it the place. So instead he kisses the back of Draco’s neck and gently flexes his finger. His other arm slips around Draco, holding him close. Draco drops his head back against Harry’s shoulder and Harry can feel the shift of his ribs as he sighs with pleasure. He gives the side of Draco’s neck another kiss, and Draco’s ear is hot where it brushes against Harry’s cheek.

Draco whines when Harry pulls out of him to slick up another finger.

“Sorry,” Harry whispers to him, even though he knows Draco probably can’t hear him. “Just a sec…”

He pushes back in with two and feels Draco’s groan vibrate through him. Harry takes a little more of his weight, letting Draco lean heavily against him, and carefully curls his fingers, working them in and out, feeling Draco’s body relaxing a fraction at a time. His cock is so hard it’s beginning to ache uncomfortable, and he leans in to press himself against the soft curve of Draco’s arsecheek. Instead of taking the edge off, it only ratchets his arousal higher. Harry rolls his hips in a slow thrust and imagines what it’ll feel like in another few minutes when he’s inside Draco. He works his fingers in Draco’s arse and imagines fucking him there, imagines coming in him and how it’ll trickle out of him afterward, dripping down his thighs, getting him all messy. He rolls his hips again, leaving behind a sticky smear of precome on Draco’s skin.

“That’s good,” Draco says, slapping at the hand Harry’s got pressed possessively to his belly even as he arches his back, pressing Harry’s fingers deeper into himself. “I’m ready now, go on.”

Harry slowly pulls his fingers out, savoring the way Draco’s body clenches briefly around his fingertips before letting him go. He fumbles for the tin of lube, getting himself ready, then drops the tin into Draco’s shirt pocket. He grabs Draco’s hips, tilting them up, and lines up his cock.

“Okay?” he asks, holding himself still with the head of his cock just barely pressing against Draco’s arsehole.

Instead of answering, Draco pushes himself back, forcing the tip of Harry’s cock into him. Harry can feel Draco’s body give way, and he holds Draco still to finish this himself. Orgasms are wonderful and all, but this is Harry’s very favorite part of sex. That first slow, sweet slide into Draco’s body, the shocking warmth of him, how snug he feels around Harry’s cock. He closes his eyes and breathes through it, and Draco knows him well enough by now to let Harry take his time and enjoy it.

When he bottoms out, hips pressed snug to the soft curve of Draco’s arse, Harry keeps perfectly still for two long seconds, letting the anticipation build, letting himself imagine how _good_ it’s going to feel when he moves. Draco’s right hand comes down to cover where Harry’s gripping his hipbone, and gives his fingers a squeeze. Harry gives him a squeeze right back.

Then he moves.

The first thrust is slow, a long drag out and push back in, carefully testing. Draco braces his hands on the wall of the closet and arches his back, pressing himself up on his toes to give Harry a better angle, practically begging for it without saying a single word.

Satisfied that he’s ready, Harry slides one hand up Draco’s side and leaves the other one curled around his hipbone to hold him in place before he fucks in hard, setting up a pounding rhythm right from the start. He can tell by the way Draco shudders and practically claws at the wall that Harry’s nailing his prostate on each thrust. He presses his hand harder against Draco’s ribs but doesn’t feel them shift. Draco gets like this at first sometimes, so overwhelmed by sensation that he’s not even breathing, he’s lost so deep inside himself. Harry feels a savage sort of pride at that, how well he knows Draco’s body, how he’s able to flood him with pleasure, push him so far under that it takes Draco long moments to find the surface again. 

Then Harry feels his ribcage hitch, knows that Draco just gasped. His hand twitches, ready to clamp his hand over Draco’s mouth if necessary.

“Oh, oh fuck,” Draco groans, louder than Harry would like but not quite loud enough to cause alarm. The wireless downstairs is still blaring and someone next door in the dining room is trying their best to shout over someone else. They’re probably safe enough from Draco giving them away, and in any case, they’re probably not going to be at this _too_ much longer. Harry skipped his usual morning wank today, and Draco never lasts very long once he’s got a cock in him.

Draco keeps up a steady stream of half-mumbled expletives punctuated by gasps and groans, none of it loud enough to be worrisome. Harry’s just beginning to lose himself in it, swept away by the steady tightening of his arousal, when he’s startled by a woman’s laugh from what sounds like is right on the other side of the coat closet door. Oh god, there are people in the entryway now, how long have they been there? Suddenly, he doubts how loud Draco’s been, how loud they’ve _both_ been. His heart thumps against his ribs, and fear of being overheard ripples through him. The danger of being caught boosts his arousal to something white-hot and burning, but only when it’s mostly-hypothetical. When the risk of being caught is _right on the other side of the fucking door_ , it turns out that it’s more terrifying than titillating. 

With his attention split between fucking Draco and listening to what sounds like Angelina Johnson complaining about the challenge of finding Christmas gifts for her newly-expanded family since she’d just married into the Weasleys, some panicked corner of Harry’s brain decides that the best way out of this situation is straight through—once they both come, this is over. He slams into Draco harder, which turns out to be a mistake.

The sudden change in intensity startles a half-strangled wail from Draco, and on the other side of the closet door, conversation falters. Harry clamps a hand down over Draco’s mouth and freezes.

“What was that?” they hear George ask. It sounds like he’s standing _right bloody there_. Someone else, Harry can’t tell who, asks, “What?” and George replies, “I swear I heard something just now.”

“Fuck,” Harry breathes into Draco’s ear. His heart is pounding. He prays George lets this go, or someone distracts him, and why on earth did he and Draco ever think it was a good idea to pick a set of wards for their house that doesn’t allow Apparition? Fuck fuck _fuck_.

Draco trembles a little bit with what Harry takes a moment to realize is laughter. He shakes off Harry’s hand and whispers, “Perhaps they’ll think the coat closet is haunted?”

It’s so unexpected that Harry just barely clamps down on a wild burst of laughter that would certainly have given them away.

“Shut up,” he whispers back, and pinches Draco’s bum.

Draco aims a swat at Harry in retaliation but in the dark confines of the closet, he misjudges how much room he’s got to swing and ends up rapping his knuckles against the door.

There’s no way George didn’t hear that.

Draco’s raising his wand to the door, and Harry snatches it right out of his hand and aims it at the wall adjacent. “ _Subitisportus!_ ,” he whispers desperately, and yanks Draco backwards through the door that pops into existence on the wall behind him. “ _Finite!_ ”

The door vanishes again, leaving the stone wall of Grimmauld Place solid and unmarred.

Draco gasps and freezes for a split second, and then they both burst into action, scrambling to do up their trousers. It’s shockingly cold out on the front stoop, and even though there’s no one around, it still feels terribly shameful to be exposed like this.

As soon as he gets his trousers up and his flies fastened, Draco wheels on him and gives Harry a shove that nearly knocks him off the stoop. “We. Are. OUTSIDE.”

“Would you rather that I’d picked a different wall?,” Harry shoots back, knocking Draco’s arm aside when he tries to shove him again. “Do you think we could’ve squeezed in behind the china cabinet in the dining room if I’d opened up that one? Or I could’ve opened a trapdoor down to the kitchen, I’m sure that would have been better.”

There’s a moment where, judging from the look of abject horror on Draco’s face, he’s imagining the two of them tumbling down through the kitchen ceiling and landing half-naked amidst their startled friends.

“But. _Outside_!” Draco repeats after a moment. He flaps one hand at the street. “I could have locked the closet door!” Draco goes on. “I could have kept them out!”

“Then they’d know we were in there,” Harry says. “Do you honestly think they’d have just gone away and let us finish up once they figured that out?”

“Better than flashing my arse at all of our neighbors.” Draco looks outraged, but from the way his gaze cuts to the side and won’t quite meet Harry’s eyes, Harry knows that inwardly Draco’s conceded the argument; he just doesn’t want to admit to it yet.

“We’re covered by the wards,” Harry tells him. And even though he knows it’s only going to irritate Draco, Harry can’t keep himself from adding, “In any case, I’m sure no one would be interested in looking at your arse. They’d be too busy staring at your cock.”

While Draco continues to sputter, Harry clambers up onto the wrought iron railing and risks a peek through the transom window.

“I just saved us from getting caught,” Harry says, jumping down. “George, Lee, Angelina, and Ginny are all right there, and I’m sure you’ll agree with me that I’d rather dance naked down Diagon Alley than let any of them catch me with my trousers—quite literally—down. They’d mock us for the next decade. The least you could do is say thanks.” And, he thought with no small amount of satisfaction, he’d responded to a crisis with a level head and even used one of the spells he’d learned as an Auror Trainee. Take _that_ , Malfoy.

“The next decade?” Draco repeats softly, and he’s smiling a little.

And, oh. Harry’d said that, hadn’t he. “Well, yeah,” he says, feeling suddenly shy, which is utterly ridiculous since they’re living together. Of course Harry is in this for the long run.

For a moment Draco just smiles at him, then he blinks and seems to remember what he was doing.

“ _Outside_ ,” Draco says again, but he’s visibly lost his venom by now.

Harry shrugs and tries to look casual, instead of hopelessly and helplessly smitten. “I don’t know, there are some advantages to being out here.”

Draco folds his arms over his chest. “Really? Go on, then. Name one.”

“Well, we’ve got a whole back garden I bet no one else is out in,” Harry says. He slides his hand around Draco’s waist and tugs him close, letting himself smile.

“Because it’s barely above bloody freezing, you arse,” Draco tells him, but he smiles back and doesn’t push Harry away.

“That’s what Warming Charms are for, aren’t they?” Harry asks. He twirls Draco’s wand around his fingers.

Draco grabs it back from him. “Fine,” he says. “But only because I’d really like to finish getting fucked.”

Grinning, Harry kisses him, then drags him down the steps and onto the pavement, just outside the outer edges of their wards. “Go on, then.”

“I’d swear, you actually enjoy watching me break the Statute of Secrecy,” Draco says as he hooks his arm firmly through Harry’s, then gives him a countdown from three before he Side-Alongs him into their neighbor’s back garden. He arches an eyebrow at him when they land.

“I just don’t enjoy Apparating, and you know it,” Harry says, putting his hands on his knees and bending over, eyes shut, breathing open-mouthed until his stomach quits trying to crawl its way up his throat. “It’s easier when you do it.”

Draco hits him with a Warming Charm, and Harry sighs, feeling like he’s just slid down into a warm bath. Draco pats Harry’s head before he does his own Charm, and Harry stands up straight.

“Ready?” Draco asks, then smirks sidelong at Harry as he aims his wand at the tall wooden fence separating #12’s garden from its neighbor’s. “ _Subitisportus_ ,” he says, and smirks harder when Harry stares gobsmacked at the doorway he’s created. It’s even got a decorative molding around its frame, because when has Draco Malfoy ever done anything by halves?

“Please,” says Draco, twirling his wand around his fingers with an obnoxious little flourish. “Tell me again how you don’t like me breaking the Statute of Secrecy?”

“I don’t give two shits about the fucking Statute,” Harry says, practically dragging him through the fence, and grabbing at his wand to snap, “ _Finite_!” at the doorway as soon as they’re through.

“Oh?” Draco asks, arching an eyebrow at him. He takes his wand back and casts a Proximity Spell on the back door to warn them if anyone approaches.

“You arsehole,” Harry says admiringly. “You just did a spell they don’t teach us until year _two_ of training. After seeing it once. While you were considerably distracted.” He swallows and takes Draco’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “That’s kind of really fucking hot.”

“Oh. So it’s really got nothing to do with the Statute?”

“Not even a little.”

Draco pouts exaggeratedly. “Well that takes all the fun out of it.”

“Really?” Harry asks, pushing up closer to him. He loops one arm around Draco’s neck and reels him in close. “All the fun?”

“Well,” Draco’s gaze flickers down to Harry’s mouth and he shifts closer to nudge their hips together. His erection has flagged somewhat, but Harry can still feel it pressing against him. “I’d say eighty, perhaps eighty-five percent of the fun.”

“That leaves me at least fifteen percent?” Harry murmurs, leaning in to nip at Draco’s bottom lip, then grins at him and waggles his eyebrows. “I can work with that.”

Draco holds it together for about two seconds before he cracks. He has to lean his forehead against Harry’s shoulder, he’s laughing so hard. Harry laughs too, pleased with himself. It’s not often he can get Draco to laugh like this.

“You know,” Draco says, straightening up again. “We have the most bizarre conversations when we’re about to have sex.”

“I’ll have you know that these bizarre conversations are half the fun for me. Maybe more than half. You know, fifty-five, maybe even sixty percent.”

It’s not even that great of a joke, but it’s still enough to set Draco off again, and Harry isn’t able to hold onto his straight face beyond that.

“Good Merlin,” Draco says when he gets himself under control again. “Shut up and kiss me, or we’ll be out here all night.”

That doesn’t sound half-bad to Harry. He loves his friends, but the house is noisy and overcrowded and it turns out that as much as he enjoys parties, Harry’s not able to relax when he’s the host. He thoroughly blames his Aunt Petunia for it, what with the way she pressed him into service for every dinner party, making him use a ruler to lay out the place settings and then screeching at him like the world was ending if she found a salad fork so much as a millimeter out of place. And as much as he’d hated it then, some of it must have rubbed off on him because now he’s got this unshakable idea that this housewarming will be a total failure if he lets anything slip, and his whole night has been running around and checking on things: their stock of food and drink, making sure the fireplaces are still burning warm enough to keep the house comfortable, tidying up all the empty glasses and plates that people keep leaving all around, and on and on and on.

But out here in the back garden, there’s enough distance from all of it that Harry can let it all go. He’d been sufficiently distracted in the closet earlier—more than, even—but this is so much better. Out here it’s just him and Draco in the quiet darkness, and the expansive warmth of Draco’s Warming Charm surrounding him feels so much like the steady way his heart warms in Draco’s presence that Harry can scarcely tell where Draco’s magic ends and he himself begins. Reaching out, he brushes a rumpled lock of Draco’s hair back into place, then leans in and kisses him gently.

Draco makes a soft humming sound and Harry can feel his lips curl up into a smile before he gives himself over to being kissed. Harry can practically feel his heart swell, warming his whole chest, and in this moment he’s as happy as he can ever remember being. Draco curls one hand into Harry’s hair and tugs him closer carefully nudging at Harry’s control until Harry lets go almost without realizing what he’s done, until suddenly Draco’s grip in his hair turns firmer, his kisses turn sharper, and something deep inside Harry goes still and quiet.

Though, as with everything in their relationship, sex is mostly a give-and-take sort of thing with them, sometimes it’s really nice when Draco takes the reins like this. He’s able to stop thinking and just _be_ , and know that Draco will take care of him. Will take care of everything.

He’s startled out of the pleasant haze he’s slipped into when Draco’s hand sneaks into the front pocket of his trousers. At first Harry thinks he’s going for his dick, but Draco’s fingers push past it, deeper, and then withdraw. A moment later, his fingers slide into Harry’s other pocket, groping against Harry’s thigh.

“Can I help you?” Harry mumbles against Draco’s mouth. He doesn’t want to stop kissing, but Draco’s clearly after something.

“Lube?”

“Front pocket,” Harry says, and jolts when Draco shoves his hand past Harry’s dick again. “No, not _mine_ —”

He takes the tin of lube from the front pocket of Draco’s shirt and presses it into one of his hands, and before he can get back to kissing, Draco turns away, surveying the garden, and Harry knows immediately what he’s doing. They’re off to the side right now, hidden by shadows but not much else. Fine enough for a snog, and maybe they could get away with mostly-clothed handjobs here, but they should probably move to somewhere a little more private if they’re going to do anything more.

And Draco seems pretty well set on getting _more_.

After several long moments of consideration, Draco grabs Harry by the wrist and practically drags him over to where a clump of rosebushes provides a modicum of shelter. Harry swipes Draco’s wand again and adds a mild charm to redirect attention to the bushes. Then Draco takes his wand back and Conjures a wooden stool, and pushes Harry down onto it.

“Get your cock out,” he says, unfastening his trousers and pushing them down his thighs. 

Harry starts to unbutton his own trousers, but gets distracted by Draco dipping his fingers into the tin of lube and reaching behind himself to work a finger into his arse. Harry doesn’t quite realize he’s staring until Draco kicks at his foot.

“Come on, Potter. Cock out.”

Harry fumbles his trousers open and does as Draco tells him to, and by then Draco’s turned around. The view of him pushing two fingers into himself does more to renew Harry’s erection than his hand on his cock does, but he gives himself a few strokes anyhow.

Draco doesn’t linger over himself, apparently satisfied he’s still loose enough from their interrupted shag earlier, and a moment later he’s smoothing a dollop of lube over Harry’s cock and lowering himself down, and Harry very helpfully touches Draco’s hip to guide him. The way Draco’s body opens so easily for him feels like coming home and Harry tugs Draco back against him, hugging him close for a moment.

Then Draco shifts against him, wordlessly asking Harry to get on with it. He spreads his legs wider, bracing his feet against the ground and settling Draco in the cradle between thighs and hips. Draco leans forward, redistributing his weight between Harry and the ground, and bracing his hands on Harry’s knees, fingers giving him a little squeeze to let him know he’s ready.

Balanced on the wooden stool Draco’s Conjured for him, Harry finds it a little difficult to get a good rhythm going without feeling like he’s about to topple them both right over onto the ground. When he takes too long in getting it figured out, Draco takes matters into his own hands. Being on top gives him the leverage to start up a rhythmic sort of grinding that keeps Harry deep inside him while also driving him entirely out of his mind. 

“Oh, oh _fuck_ ,” he gasps, grasping at Draco’s hips, more to feel him move than to try to direct him at all. 

Draco laughs breathlessly. “There we are,” he says, and then moans loudly when Harry reaches around and grabs his cock. 

“Shh!” Harry tells him even as he wanks him harder, and Draco’s hips stutter as he moans again. “Seriously, they’re going to hear—”

“Perhaps,” Draco gasps, “they’ll think the back garden is haunted.”

And Harry has to rest his forehead against Draco’s back for a moment, overcome by laughter and fond exasperation for this ridiculous man he’s fallen in love with. “You stupid arsehole,” he says.

“You love it,” Draco tells him, and Harry can tell he’s smiling.

“Yeah, pretty much— _oh_ ,” Harry says when Draco suddenly picks up the pace. “Fuck, fuck, you keep doing that and I’m not going to— _Draco_.” His hand tightens around Draco’s cock, working over him just the way Harry knows he likes because fucked if he’s going to go off early on his own.

Draco lets out another loud moan and at this point Harry doesn’t even fucking care, this is so good, this feels so good, he doesn’t care who overhears it or how much mocking he’ll have to endure if they do.

What with the delayed gratification they’ve had tonight and all, Harry would have thought that his orgasm would’ve been one that hit like a runaway train. Instead, he climaxes in a gentle cresting of pleasure and then gets kicked straight into a sweet and sleepy afterglow, all warm and heavy and so happy that it feels like he could just burst with it.

He slumps forward to push his face against Draco’s back, hooks one arm heavy around his middle to haul him close and barely has the presence of mind to keep stroking him, and from there it only takes a half dozen more before Draco’s moaning breaks off into a half-strangled wail as he comes in wet pulses over Harry’s fingers. Draco slumps backward against him, folds one arm over the arm that Harry’s got wrapped around his middle, and together they let themselves come back down.

“Good?” Draco asks after a few minutes.

“Mm, always,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to the center of Draco’s spine and then nudging at him until he stands up.

Draco’s quick with the cleaning charms, and Harry only has a split second of regret that he wasn’t able to see his come trickling down Draco’s thighs. That’s all right, it’s probably too dark out here anyway to have seen anything. He’ll just have to get Draco all messed up again tomorrow, when they’re inside in their bed (and there’s that thrill again— _their bed!!_ ) and Harry can take his time and really enjoy the view. Draco cleans up Harry with a few more charms as well, and then, just because he’s an utter wanker, he Vanishes the Conjured stool right out from under Harry’s arse and then laughs at him.

“I’ll get you back for that later, you know,” Harry warns, standing up. He mentally adjusts his plans for tomorrow.

Draco’s grin is bright in their shadowy little corner of the garden. “I’m rather counting on it.”

And Harry can’t ever stay annoyed with Draco when he’s smiling like that. “Well, if you’re counting on it then that takes all the fun out of it for me, doesn’t it?”

“Not _all_ the fun,” Draco says lightly. “Only half the fun. Fifty-five percent at the most.”

“That leaves, what, forty-five percent?” Harry pretends to think that over for a moment. “I suppose I can work with that.”

Draco gives him an exaggerated leer. “I’m rather counting on that, too.”

Grinning, Harry kisses him, takes his hand, and together they go back inside their house.


End file.
